January 25, 2013 § 1 Comment
Willows blowing hay-wire
Sun setting in to the winter’s dry
All that is left, is a chilling shrill
Yet we hold on
Cling to the warmth
Because that is how we can survive
In the cold cold sight
This is harsh harsh truth
piercing through the delicate blues
And yet we refuse to see how it looks
Clinging to the everlasting good.
The sun needs to set to rise.